This Is Not Living
by Emperor Sunny
Summary: The thoughts of everybody's favorite villain, Darth Vader. How he thinks about life in the big black suit, torn capes, female officers, and turning back to the light. And whats up with being cremated?


Well, this is a oneshot that I wrote off a piece of inspiration I got while reading The Dark Lord: The Rise of Lord Vader, where he thinks to himself that living in the suit wasn't truly living at all

Well, this is a oneshot that I wrote off a piece of inspiration I got while reading The Dark Lord: The Rise of Lord Vader, where he thinks to himself that living in the suit wasn't truly living at all. The little quotes are some things I made up, from the movies, or belong to the Native Americans. I thought that they would help liven it up a wee ickle bit, give some background to their respective parts. I do not own Star Wars, Darth Vader, or the like, George Lucas does. And now...

enjoi.

This is Not Living

_**It is said that death kills off a piece of the soul. That whenever one sees death, it shakes the very foundations of sanity to the point where the top parts fall off and die, and the more it shakes, the more pieces fall and die; kinda like a chain reaction. I guess that explains the mental states of serial killers and those involved in genocide, as well as why a good portion of these, historically, committed suicide or sacrificed themselves "for the greater good" after they realized what they'd done. Hell, I wouldn't want to live with that burden either, come to think of it...**_

-Reshael Domenrak, Zabrak, Professor of Psycology, University of Coruscant

In his chambers aboard the _Executor_, the shell of a man named Darth Vader meditated in the silent storm that was the Dark Side. He contemplated the meaning of his existence, awaiting the beck and call of his master. '_This is not living_', Vader thought again. How many times has he thought that thought, since his first meditation as the cybernetic lapdog of Palpatine? How many more times was he going to think it in the future? 'No... _This is not living at all._'

The meditation chamber was stark black, white, and gray. It was a bland home for the now bland occupant; a restless soul bound to life by anger, hate, and the space black suit ensheathing him. Oh, how he had once lived! He lived, loved, fought, bled, cried, talked to friends, breathed in the smell of Naboo flowers in spring, tasted the gritty, brackish Tattoine sand, saw the beauty of his lovely wife, and heard the purr of a flashy new speeder. He dreamt of their child, the poor child that never truly met his father... Luke. Oh, how he _missed_ those feelings. Well, how he _thought_ he missed those feelings; dead people don't feel.

Anakin felt them, for sure. That simpering, cowering boy in the back of his mind's darkest corner, the deepest, bloodiest bowels of Vader's supposed soul. He felt love. He felt emotion in _general_. He spited Vader from his little prison, whispering little phrases of depressing proportions. '_You're nothing but a monster. You never lived, and never will. All you'll do is pass by like the good little pet rancor you are.'_

Was this true? Did Vader really live, or was he just Palpatine's little lap nek, a facade? Surely the boy, that useless slave boy, was nothing more but a figment of Vader's desolate imagination. But that doesn't explain how he had always been there. How long has 'always' been, anyway? The pain and torment lasted so long Vader felt the years sweep by like days, even though days seemed to last years.

'_You're a figment of my imagination, Anakin. You. Are. Dead,'_ Vader spoke to the voice in his head.

'_Dead people don't have imaginations, Darth. Surely _you_ know that.'_

The automatic door swooshed open, and Admiral Piett shuffled in, bleary-eyed and obviously exhausted from spending too much time on the bridge. He wobbled a bit as he stretched to attention. "Lord Vader, a moment, if you will?"

Vader's vocal cords were smelted by the fires of Mustafar, so he had had to wait for his helmet to descend upon his head. His reliance on the vocalizer tormented him, for it was not his voice, it was a machine's. The only voice he could truly muster was a deflated, incoherent whisper, a raspy remnant of his once vibrant tongue. His eardrums ruptured from the heat of lava, the helmet again supplemented him with auditory receivers. '_This is not hearing'_, he thought. "What is it, Admiral? Have you any news on Skywalker?" '_This is not talking.'_

"No, my Lord. But, before I leave shift, uh, if I may, can I ask something?"

_'Interesting,'_ Vader thought. An admiral that wasn't afraid to ask an obviously personal question? Of Vader? He hadn't seen such bravery, such flair, since... he didn't want to traverse _that _thought path.

"What is it, Admiral?" He growled, disturbed by his own thought process.

"I- uh, sir- my lord," Piett stumbled with his words. "Do you think we'll ever fully stop the Rebellion?"

What was that Vader felt in Piett, that lonely feeling? It was familiar, like how felt when he was away from Pad- Of _course_. "You miss your home, admiral." It was a question, but stated as a fact. Piett brought back memories that infuriated Vader. Memories best left in the refuse compactor.

The remaining color drained from Piett's face. "Y-yes, my- my lord," He stammered. "I'm sorry, my Lord. I'll-"

"Work harder to find _Skywalker_, won't you, Admiral Piett?"

"Yes, my Lord. We will find him. He will be found."

"I would hope so, for your sake, Admiral. Leave. Now."

"_**You know, I'm getting **_**really **_**sick of the Jedi and Sith. They use the Galaxy to fuel their own petty disagreements, over dramatizing the other's "evilness" and such. You bloody git-faced barves are really all one and the same in the end; people with a power that other people don't have. Makes you feel special? Arrogant, over hyped di'kuts..."**_

_**"You, Mandalorian, are the stupidist, most idiotic fool I've ever had the displeasure of knowing."**_

-A Jedi and a Mandalorian meet in a bar...

The stars coalescing into the ethereal blue of hyperspace dissipated and retook to their original forms; dots of yellow and red and white on a deep black canvas fitting in with the dusty spray of nebulae. Vader took this in from the viewport of the _Executor'_s bridge and sighed. '_This not seeing,_' he brooded. No, the photoreceptors of the helmet blocked the harshness of light that hit his damaged eyes, brought to focus what his melted retinas could not, would not. How could he survive like this, he pondered. What was his motivation?

_'Revenge_,' a voice sounded in his head. It was smooth as velvet, dark and evil. Vader often associated that voice with the Dark Side of the Force, egging him on, telling him crush an officer's throat as often as it gave him power.

_'Revenge_?' he thought back, remarkably philosophical for his mental state.

'_Yes. Revenge for Padme_.'

He laughed at himself for that. It must have been years since he smiled; it hurt the remaining nerves under his skin, stretching flesh that hadn't moved in that way for years. It felt good, to simply smile, if not physically, then mentally. '_What would revenge fetch me? _I_ killed her. What am I to do, kill myself?'_

_'No_,' cooed the voice, smooth as pitch black lager. '_The Jedi, fool! They are what caused this. It's their fault! If they didn't fear the Dark Side, if they hadn't forbidden attachments, you and your love would not have been forced to hide your love. You would have had more power to protect her from death; you could have been freer to end the Clone Wars. She wouldn't have betrayed you to Obi-wan.'_

'_That vengeance has been brought out,' _Vader retorted.

"My Lord, the fleet summons report you requested," a young officer, a lieutenant, he guessed, pressed Vader from his thoughts. "You'll be pleased to hear that in the last hour another five Star Destroyers from Vice Admiral Thrawn's fleet has arrived. His operation to rescue the Emperor from Zaarin was successful. He has sent some of his ships here now even as he chases down the traitor. All is stated in the official report, sir,"

Using the Force, he pulled the datacard from the lieutenant's fingers and into his mechanical palm. A bit miffed about being jarred from his first happy thought in years-hell, it felt like _ever_, he responded more stiffly than usual. "Very good, Lieutenant Ansaron."

"Um, sir?" The officer inquired. "I'm not Ansaron, sir. I'm Ensign Dralla."

Such _brashness_! Vader turned threatingly, and regarded the girl, ready to crush her pretty little throat- wait, girl? Sure enough, a young human female, in her late teens to early twenties with auburn hair pulled back tightly under her cap and blue eyes revealing her fear while her heart-shaped face stoically did not, stood at attention in front of the Dark Lord of the Sith. With the body language of a wounded kath hound pup, she gulped and tried not to fall to the floor in ashes under the heat of Vader's glare. Who let a female into the Imperial ranks? Vader wondered "Well, where _is_ Lieutenant Ansaron, Ensign Dralla?"

"Sir, y-you killed him last week."

He killed his best office aide since that cowardly Elomin? "What? How?"

Obviously startled by the question, Dralla stuttered even more. "He-he tripped, sir. He f-f-fell over a-a-a mouse-mouse d-d-droid, sir. In your back. W-w-well, not _in_ your back, sir. I mean, a droid can't be there, b-b-but he tripped into your ba-back, and tore your cape and-"

"He tore my _CAPE?!_" '_This is outrageous! UNFAIR! He killed his aide over a torn cape? He tore his CAPE?! How could he? He is my aide!_' Vader was seething. But almost as quickly as it started, the rage withered away, followed by a wave of sadness and confusion. Turning around, he noticed the blatant rip in the hem of the material. He didn't get it fixed? How could he have forgotten?

He sighed again. He was losing a lot of his memories lately. His rage was triple fold, and it was blinding him? Or was this chasing his son across the galaxy screwing around with the shattered remains of his sanity?

That's when he remembered the ensign in front of him. Her expression was one of worry mixed with curiosity and pure, primal fear. She reminded him of Darra Thel-Tanis, an old friend of his. Where did that come from? She was a Jedi, from a lifetime ago that didn't even exist...

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I expect another report by this time tomorrow, no later."

With a wave of his hand, the girl was Force-swept from the bridge deck and thrown out into the wall of the corridor beyond, the doors swishing silently shut shortly afterwards.

Turning back to his viewport, he brooded once more. '_This is _not_ normal_.'

_**"He's more machine now than man; twisted and evil."**_

_**"I **_**KNOW**_** there's still good in him..."**_

-Luke Skywalker and the ghost of Obi-Wan Kenobi, 

discussing Anakin Skywalker's Fall to the Dark Side

""Luke... help me take... this mask off..." Vader dragged out, every surviving nerve in his body screaming at him.

"But you'll die!" argued Luke.

Luke... his son. '_My boy_, _I'm so proud of you son,' _Vader thought_. "_Nothing..." he gasped. "Can stop that now. Let me... look on you, with my own eyes."

Luke looked torn between doing what he wished and telling him to kriff off, but after a moment he relented. With a hiss, the top "coal scuttle" of Vader's helmet pops off, and Vader feels the pressurized air rush out with a gush. He winced as the sudden change popped what little remained of his eardrums rather painfully. The skeletal front then peels off with a crackle and, like a reveille, he sees the light of the hangar bay, the gray walls, blinking klaxons, and Luke, his son. His boy.

The majority of the hangar was fuzzy and dim; evidence of the damage done to his eyes. But Luke's appearance came to him in sharp contrast, allowing him see every little feature to the just-now-forming laugh lines, the blue eyes, and the familiar hair color. Luke, to him, looked every bit as much like Vader had before his fateful fall into hell. Despite the striking similarities, Vader noted that Luke resembled Padme more; the fiery determination, stubbornness, his unfaltering beliefs, the way he set his face, eyes, and body language... it was all there. And Vader felt sorry for himself.

In his minds eye, he saw Anakin, no longer a cowering child locked in the depths of Vader's mind, looking down at his own arm, at _Vader's _arm, and the other, and his legs, and he was whole. He felt whole. Anakin was him, and he was Anakin. It was liberating, smooth, soothing. Vader left conscious thought and never came back, and he didn't care. Sensing the troubled thoughts of Luke, however, brought Anakin back to reality.

Smiling his old cocky smile, he looked at Luke, and with his own eyes. He was dead, and he knew it, but he could rest easy. He felt it, felt how he brought balance to the Force. '_I did it, Obi-Wan! I DID it!_' Now, there was only one last thing to do, and that was die.

"Now, go, my son... leave me..." he choked out.

Padme's stubbornness shone through to their child, and Anakin smiled. "I'm not gonna leave you-I'm about to save you!"

"You already have, Luke," Anakin praised. Then it occurred, to him; his daughter. "And tell your sister... you were right about me... tell your sister... you were _right_..." and from then, it went white. Anakin was home.

_**There is no Death, There is the Force...**_

The white faded to a bright blue as Anakin's weary soul came to life. Smiling at him, the wizened visage of Obi-Wan Kenobi tugged Anakin up from his prone position and gave him a hug.

"I knew you could do it, brother. Come, Everyone is waiting for you."

"Everyone? Waiting... wait, I'm confused..."

Obi-Wan laughed and waved his arm. Out of nowhere appeared all his friends, mentors, fellow Jedi. Yoda, Qui-Gon, Tru, his first and one of his best friends, Darra Thel-Tanis, Mace Windu, Qu Rahn, Jorus C'Baoth, Cin Drallig, and many more. But despite seeing all his friends, his family, there was a single one that seemed to call to him. They greeted him as he passed, and finally he reached the person. Standing there, in the midst of the many Knights, was Padme. He rushed to her, embraced her, and never let go.

'_Now, _this _is living_._'_

_**"Two Wolves"**_

_**One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside of all thepeople. He said, "My son, the battle is between two 'wolves' inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.**_

"_**The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: "Which wolf wins?"**_

_**The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed." **_

-Ancient Cherokee Fable

Anakin watched on as Luke took a torch to his former body and armor. He nodded to himself, approving. He remembered an old history class he had back in the Jedi Temple, about an old warrior-oriented, tribal culture that left the corpses of the dead behind, nut exceptional warriors were taken from the battlefield, adorned in ceremonial armor, and burned in a massive pyre, after which the fellow tribesman danced and sang in reverence to their fallen, beloved comrade.

He was burning, the Ewoks were dancing and singing, and his son revered him. What more could he ask for from a funeral? Smiling, he turned and disappeared, seemingly into the night.

Little did Luke know, but the body of Anakin Skywalker disappeared from underneath it's armor, right along with it's soul.


End file.
